Trust
by Furiyan
Summary: How do you love someone, if you don't trust them? [One Shot] [AU] [Suggestive Themes] [Three Instances of Swearing]


**A/N: I'm in the mood for conflict. This is pretty much an inspiration dump, so I hope people enjoy it.**

 **Rated T for suggested naughty themes, and three instances of the F-word.**

* * *

 **"Trust"**

"Ow! What the-?!"

Jack nearly goes flying as soon as he walks through the apartment door, courtesy of his foot blindly impacting something heavy and hard, and the excitement and trepidation after leaving the hotel that once filled his entire being when he opened the door is instantly replaced by frustration and surprise…and more than a few choice curses. Etched upon his usually mischievous features is a scowl of pain as he irritably hops on one foot, willing his oh-so-injured left toes to return to their previous pain-free state of existence.

It's then that he notices how _dark_ the apartment is; the modern free-standing lamp that illuminates the brown leather couch is decidedly inert, shadows dance silently across the laminate flooring like natural paintings of darkness, and the only illumination offered in the unusually dark place is from the moon's ghostly glow caressing the floor in a long strip from the window to the television.

"The hell?" he murmurs in deep confusion – usually the living room light is on, and if Elsa has had a tough day at the office and wants to wind down – meaning, Jack's hands stay away from certain places – then the free-standing lamp acts in its place for a soothing, natural glow. So, satisfied that his left foot is no longer screaming obscenities at him, he lets his satchel of toy-shop managerial papers (and his lunch) drop to the floor with a heavy thump and uses the newly free arm to flick the light switch situated to the right of the front door behind him.

And it's then that his confusion only deepens, bringing with it a clenching of his gut that definitely speaks of fear and worry, since the object that brought inimitable pain to his big toe was a suitcase, and two smaller luggage bags – all three of them are his.

"Elsa?" he calls out worriedly as he relieves himself of his suit jacket and tosses it onto the suitcase. Was she going somewhere? Was _he?_ Admittedly, he had been coming home late over the past week or so, and any questions directed at him by his girlfriend had been met with evasiveness and secrecy – but damn if the suitcases weren't ominous.

"Elsa? Hey, you home?" he calls out again as he slowly, quietly moves further into the apartment. His uncertainty and prickling nausea only grows – usually Elsa is the first one home after work and greets him with a smile, a kiss, a glass of wine, and a genuine curiosity as to his day. The initially darkened apartment in addition to his suitcase and luggage bags, combined with her lack of presence is something that – quite honestly – scares the hell out of him.

And then he hears it, the sound of quiet sniffs and sobs as they float from the master bedroom to the left of the wide window. Fuelled by panic and adrenaline, he sprints to the bedroom with the hope of trying to find out what the hell is going on, and why Elsa is in tears – and as he rounds the doorway with one hand on the frame, and his eyes are finally able to see, that's when he freezes in shock – completely speechless by what he's witnessing.

Elsa is a mess, an absolute mess. Her otherwise perfect mascara paints her cheeks in watery, black streaks. Her gorgeous cerulean blue eyes are puffy and red, her lips are permanently parted in wracking sobs and curses under her breath, and her left wrist is stained with smeared lipstick and moist foundation. Not to mention the frazzled, flyaway hairs that have somehow escaped her usually immaculate French braid.

On top of that, whilst sobbing loudly and occasionally covering her mouth as fresh cries escape her lips, she's pulling clothes out of a chest of drawers and shoving them into another suitcase.

His clothes. His suitcase.

He feels a stab of pain that equates to a javelin in his heart, and it's what prompts him to finally open his mouth. "Elsa? What's going on? Why are you packing my-"

His question is summarily interrupted; as soon as his voice reaches her ears, her head snaps up with an expression of tearful rage as she slams his favourite blue sweater onto the bed, and she marches over to him…

…followed by the sharp sound of skin on skin, as her open hand makes violent contact with his face.

Uttering a yelp of pain, his world goes sideways with the force of the impact, and his hands instantly shoot up to protectively cover the patch of sharp stinging pain. Great, first the toe, now the cheek. Slowly drawing himself upright once more, he shoots her a look of complete and utter bewilderment – met by an expression of hurt, betrayal and anger.

"Elsa! What the hell was that for?" he blurts loudly. Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second as she sucks in a quiet breath, as though his question was something that only intensifies her rage.

"You know _exactly_ what it's for, Jack!" she shouts back at him, and even though he is seven inches taller, he can't help but recoil. "I know everything! I know what you've been hiding from me!"

"What?" he frowns deeply while waving his right arm in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Jack!" she shouts louder.

"I'm not playing dumb! I haven't been-" he protests, but is met by another slap on exactly the same place. Any harder and she'll draw blood.

"Don't lie to me, Jack!" she snarls, and turns her back on his recoiling-for-the-second-time form to continue with her self-assigned task by roughly grabbing the sweater and forcefully shoving it into the suitcase.

Anger replaces the hurt and the confusion – whatever's going on, he's got no idea, and he doesn't like that. "I'm not lying, Elsa! I have no idea what you're talking about, and you won't tell me what I'm supposed to have done wrong? Tell me, so I can make it right!" he says, before adding, "or at least so you can stop slapping me!"

"Don't you dare act like you don't know, Jackson Overland Frost!" she yells at him as she strides back to the chest of drawers and yanks out his brown pants. He feels his heart freeze for a second as he follows her movements – there's something in the drawer below it that he doesn't want her to see, and his eyes are still fixed on it when she continues, "I know exactly what you've been doing, you thoughtless jerk! I know why you've been dodging questions for the past week!"

At this, his eyes snap up to her and his blood runs cold. She wasn't supposed to find out this way. Not at all. He was going to tell her when he was ready, not have her find out on her own – or with help…freaking Anna. He swallows thickly as his mouth runs dry, and the blood vacates his face like it was uninhabitable, to assist in the nauseating churn of his stomach.

"W-what do you-" he croaks, but she interrupts him once more.

"You cheated on me!" she screams as she throws his brown pants at him, glaring pure fire from those otherwise peaceful blue orbs.

Silence reigns for what feels like an eternity, where two pairs of eyes remain locked to each other; one moist and tearful pair filled with rage and betrayal, the other filled with shock and surprise. His legs feel weak enough to give way.

"Elsa…you've got it wrong…I haven't cheated on you…" he says quietly, barely above a murmur. Her lips purse as her stare hardens, and he almost feels the urge to run – but he won't. He knows he needs to stand his ground, straighten this out, and make her understand.

"You just can't stop lying, can you?" she snarls, and for a moment he's thankful that the volume has been lowered a little, "All this time, have you been truthful at any point? When you tell me you love me? When we make love, is it me you are with, or _her?_ Was our entire relationship real, Jack?"

"Of course it was," he protests, "just gimme a chance to-"

Her face briefly falls to anguished sadness as she croaks, "I loved you, Jack. I _loved_ you with all my heart, and I thought you loved me too. I thought you were honest, and true, and everything I wanted…"

"Elsa, honey, I do love you! Just let me explain…" he begins, but the words freeze in his throat when her face contorts into acidic anger, as though his mere voice is enough to enrage her.

"No. I'm not listening to any more of your lies. You're a dirty, filthy cheat, just like he was. I thought you were different, but no. You're disgusting. You're just as bad." She says in a brutal, spitting tirade that ends with one of the most venomous things he has ever heard from her lips, "you men are all the same."

And that's when he snaps. How dare she compare him to her ex-boyfriend. How dare she put him in the same category of that arrogant, deceitful jerk. "I AM NOT HANS!" he roars, with indignant fury equalling hers.

For a second, she flinches…but whatever misguided hate has been fuelling her for however long she has been at the task of packing his stuff seemingly bubbles back up to take control once more.

"No," she says quietly…but every word she speaks is edged with cold anger, "I will admit you had me going for longer than he did. You were clever; you covered your tracks well. You even convinced me, made me believe for such a long time that I was in love, that there was someone who was different, someone who could be loyal and honest to me. I even..." her voice breaks for a moment as she looks down and thumbs at the black halter-neck dress, before continuing, "I even wore the dress like you asked, hoping that putting it on would convince me otherwise..."

He sees her throat rise and dip as she swallows hard, and watches in stunned silence as she looks up at the ceiling as though gravity will help eradicate the tears streaming from her eyes.

"But I was wrong. It was all a lie – and that makes me feel like the most gullible, pathetic woman on the planet, that I was being cheated on for the second time. Great job, Elsa." She adds self-deprecatingly, "you're such an observant girl."

"Elsa, listen to me," he begins quietly, and raises his hands in open peace, "I love you so much, I haven't cheated on you. I wouldn't. You're my shining snowflake, you're too-"

"Enough, Jack." she murmurs, looking away to the chest of drawers once more. "I don't want to listen to your weak lies anymore. I know about the hotel, Jack, and about the woman."

Jack stiffens. "Y-you do? How?" he says, his voice cracking without warning.

"I saw the credit card bill, Jack. You booked a room for a week, and didn't tell me about it. So I told Anna, who followed you there on Monday, during your lunch break. She told me how you went into the hotel, then she asked at the desk who you were visiting – someone called Jennifer. Then she followed you on Wednesday, and saw you meet this woman with multi-coloured hair at Starbucks. She saw how you hugged her and kissed her on the cheek."

"Elsa, she's-"

"I'm not finished," she interrupts him with a held hand, gazing intently at the third drawer, "and I need to, for my own sake. I wanted to see for myself, so I left work early for lunch yesterday and followed you, where you met with that woman again and took her to the hotel. That's when I knew for sure you were cheating on me. I saw the hotel bills, Jack, and it explains why you've been so secretive around me, and coming home late. I know everything, Jack."

"Baby, please…don't do this…" he pleads.

"No, Jack. We're through. We're over. I don't trust you. I _can't_ trust you any longer. You told me you loved me, and you saw this Jennifer behind my back. I don't love you anymore, Jack. That's why I'm packing your things, and you're moving out. I don't want you in my life any more."

And that's the moment where his heart shatters in two. He opens and closes his mouth to protest, to try and explain everything to her – but the words lodge in his throat roughly where the lump is situated, and tears descend from his own eyes in hurt and sorrow. He was an idiot – he should have been more _careful_.

She takes his lack of protest as a sign of guilt, and after wiping her nose with her arm she sniffs, nodding in self-agreement. "I'm sorry, Jack," she murmurs as she pulls out his spare blue hooded sweater, "but this is how it goes."

As she pulls the garment from the drawer, there's a soft clatter as something cube-shaped falls out of the pocket. Had it happened during the screaming match, she would have ignored it – but in the heart-rending silence between them, thick enough to be cut with a knife, the sound is like a crack of thunder. He watches her frown with confusion as she squats to pick it up, and holds it out to him in the palm of her hand as she glances between it, and him.

"Was this for her?" she asks coldly. He shakes his head, his tearful eyes not leaving the box once.

"No, for you. Open it, if you want." he says quietly.

The silence continues as she hesitates for a moment – but after tossing the sweater aside, she carefully grips the lid and pries it apart…and he hears the gasp of shock.

He knows exactly what it is – a ring. Pure silver, with a snowflake emblem that houses a beautiful sapphire in the centre, it represents both her as the love of his life, and his undying love for her. He had kept it secret for so long – and in the worst possible situation, its presence has been revealed.

This was not the way she was supposed to see it.

She looks up at him with uncomprehending eyes, and Jack doesn't even need to look at her to tell that it's a silent request for explanation – one that he can finally give, several minutes too late, without being interrupted.

"The woman who you and Anna think I've been cheating on you with? Her name's Thiana, an old friend from high school. She's also one of the best jewellers in the state. What you've got there," he gestures lamely to the precious object, "is a bespoke ring, custom designed by me and made by her. When Anna saw me, she had just handed over the ring. I was so happy, I just wanted to hug her and kiss her cheek to say thanks. I didn't want you to find out about it, so I hid it in that drawer."

"Jack…" she began weakly, but he held up a hand to stop her.

"No, you've had your turn. Now it's mine. Yeah, I've been paying for a hotel room, and yeah I've been there twice, with Thiana coming with me the second time. It's not what you think though, and I can prove it. You see…Jennifer was a fake name." he continues sadly.

His hand dives into the pocket of his suit pants to retrieve his smartphone, and after a few deft taps and swipes he hands it over to Elsa, who accepts it with trembling hands. He knows exactly what's on the screen as he has read, re-read and re-re-read the messages so many times, so he exhales deeply through his nose as he slides his hands back into his pockets, waiting.

 _Message from: Idun Snowfield._

 _17/11/15, 10:39_

 _Hey Jack! We just arrived at the hotel! Thank you so much for paying for our flight and for the room, we look forward to exploring the city! Agdar's already ordering room service. Can't wait to see you at lunchtime!_

 _Message from: Idun Snowfield._

 _20/11/15, 13:15_

 _I know I already said this on Monday, but Agdar and I just wanted to show our appreciation for you asking for our permission first. It means a lot to us that, unlike that auburn-haired "man", there are respectful gentlemen in this world. I don't need to say this, but I will anyway: you have our proud permission. Elsa is lucky to have you._

 _P.S. The ring is beautiful, and Thiana is a very talented woman. You should pay her a little extra!_

"Oh my God…" Elsa breathes as she covers her mouth with the phone hand, and stares at him with what looks like horrified guilt – though he can't be sure, as all he has seen up to that point has been rage and venom. "You…" she begins weakly.

"Yup," Jack sighs in forlorn resignation, staring at the jewellery box in her right hand, "I was going to propose to you."

"When?" she asks croakily, her voice partly muffled by his phone.

"Tonight, actually. Couple of hours from now – it's why I wanted you to wear that evening dress. I was gonna take you and Anna to Oaken's Restaurant, and the idea was that your parents would surprise you there. After that, you and I would disappear for a moonlit walk along the beach, talk about our relationship, and then we'd get to the end of the pier where your family would be waiting. That was the moment when I was gonna ask you to marry me. Of course – and not that I'm saying you're expensive, for the record – the flight, the hotel rooms, Oaken's restaurant…the ring…all of that cost a lot. Even with me saving up, I still had to pull a few more hours managing the toy shop. S'why I was always coming home late."

He casts a quick glance, and feels his heart twinge at the expression of unmitigated guilt and shock on her face, before returning his gaze to the ring sat happily in its cushion.

"Overtime pay rocks." he finishes in a bitter chuckle.

Returning his gaze to his _now-ex-girlfriend_ , he blinks to hold back the tears – _he will not cry, he will not cry –_ before he finishes spoiling the surprise.

"I had it all planned out for…about a year, I guess? It was supposed to be the perfect proposal, to show you how much you mean to me, how I can't live without you, how you are as important to me as air and the blood that runs in my body, that I can't see myself with anyone else but you…and that I would die for you."

Silence once more reigns in the room, but rather than consisting of rage, bitterness, hate and venom, it is filled with guilt and sadness, regret at the now and what might-have-been. The excitement he felt when he opened the apartment door feels like a distant memory, a dream, along with his idea of the perfect proposal…his way of showing her that she is more precious to him than gold, and more beautiful than the stars in a cloudless, inky sky.

She is his life – and she broke his heart.

"Jack…"

"Yeah?" he answers quietly, his eyes fixed rather intently on the third drawer.

"I am…so so sorry…" she begins, and out of the corner of his eye he notices how she carefully places the box and phone upon the bed and rushes towards him…

…but he is too angry. His heart is an aching mess, his red eyes burn with tears both shed and unshed, and his throat feels like he'll never swallow for the rest of his life.

So, with hands that shoot up to protect him, he recoils away.

Stung by his rebuff, she freezes in step as her arms instantly leash back, both hands clenched with one at her side and the other over her heart, staring at him with deep confusion and overwhelming sadness. He gazes at her for what feels like an eternity while a furious maelstrom of emotions battle for dominance in his chest; anger, hurt, sadness, uselessness, disappointment…and love.

"Jack…please, I'm so-"

"Please…do-don't," he rasps, with cracks etching his voice like broken glass, "I can't do this right now."

He looks off to the side at the rail holding up the ice blue curtains on their bedroom window, and swallows thickly. "Elsa…I'm not a cheat. I've never done it, and I never will do. I don't know why you and Anna thought I would. I don't know why _anyone_ thinks I would. And then this night, which was supposed to be the happiest of my life…"

He laughs, but it is laughter in spite of mirth. It's bitter, hollow, and weighted with pain.

"…Elsa, I love you so much, but I'm too hurt and angry to stay here. I need to be alone for a while, get my head straight – 'cause I'm not lying when I say it's a mess right now. So what I'm gonna do-"

"Jack, please-"

"-is do exactly what you told me to do-" he continues unstoppably. He needs to do this.

"I didn't mean it, I lo-"

"-and leave."

His words – albeit slightly spiteful in the way they are thrown back in her face – drop a ten tonne weight of discomfort and silent tension in the room. Her hands, which were in the process of reaching for him suddenly fall at her sides to clutch and claw at her stunning, elegant halter-neck black dress, and her head bows in shame. All he needs to do is hold her and tell her it'll be okay, and he knows it…

…but he needs to cool off. Everything he's built for a year and lovingly tended to over the week has crumbled to his feet in less than fifteen minutes, undone by suspicion, misconstrued situations and miscommunication – silent killers of any relationship. So when he carefully moves past her to pick up the phone and hooded sweater, while leaving the ring – he has a few calls to make, and a reservation to cancel – and silently sweeps past her to leave the bedroom, he knows he's doing the right thing for him to help heal his aching heart…

…an ache that intensifies when the sound of his _(ex?)_ girlfriend bursting into unrestrained tears follows him to the apartment door.

* * *

 _~oO this space for rent Oo~_

* * *

She's not sure how long it's been since he left, all she knows that the moon's light now pours into the bedroom to bathe the bed in an unearthly glow – and though it's nothing but a sphere floating in space held by the Earth's gravitational pull, Elsa swears that it's judging her by how the white radiance falls squarely upon the silver ring still sat in its box and _not_ on her finger, shimmering proudly as though possessing its own power to illuminate.

Sat on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest and her back against her nightstand, facing the bedroom door in case of his return – so she could dart to her feet, run into his arms, kiss him more times than she can count and apologise more than there are stars in the sky – her eyes remain unwaveringly fixed upon the glimmering jewellery.

She cried so much that her eyes feel dry, her entire head aches and her throat feels raw, but still she feels the urge to sob. The black dress, once her favourite, feels like a constricting reminder of her mistake.

 _Proposals are supposed to be happy, joyous occasions…so, way to go, Elsa. You just ruined yours._

All she needed to do was let him speak, to let him explain, to prove that her suspicions of his behaviour were unfounded and hasty. Maybe then he'd still be here, in her arms…or even at the restaurant with her family. Laughing. Joking. Casting loving glances at her husband-to-be.

Not crying.

Stupid insecurities. Stupid Hans.

Stupid fear.

She's so deep in self-reproach and shame that she pays no heed to the sound of the apartment door opening and closing with a click and a quiet call of her name that accompanies soft and light footsteps towards the bedroom. Oddly, she knows it's not Jack just by how the person walks, never mind the fact that the visitor's voice is female.

She knows it's Anna, since she _somehow_ managed to dial her phone with trembling fingers and wracking sobs, and plead for her to come over. Anna then babbled something about being on her way faster than you can say _"snowman"_ , before Elsa silently hung up the call and slid down the nightstand.

"Hey," her younger sister softly calls from the bedroom door, visible in the corner of Elsa's eye, "I got the text from Jack to say the restaurant meal was off. Stupid question but…you okay?"

Elsa's only response is a slow, numb shake of her head that brushes her lips against her knees.

"Oh honey." Anna clucks in pity as she gently moves towards her. Numb to pretty much everything, Elsa feels a pair of warm hands around her forearms, and as though her body was void of will she allows herself to be pulled to her feet and embraced into a comforting, sisterly embrace.

"Look," she murmurs into Elsa's ear whilst stroking vertical lines for comfort into her back, "I know it hurts, but you did the right thing. If a guy cheats on you, he's not worth your time and love. You're strong, you're independent…you don't need him."

"No, Anna." Elsa finds herself whispering the words before she even notices.

"No?" her sister pulls back and gives her a raised eyebrow, with an expression of unsubtle incredulity for emphasis. "I'm sorry—no? Elsa-"

"I was wrong, Anna. I was completely…utterly…wrong. He didn't cheat on me." Elsa interrupts, and feels the lump in her throat harden.

"Come on, 'sis. You can't believe a word a cheater says." the strawberry blonde scoffs with rolled eyes.

"That's the thing, Anna. I do…and I've seen the proof." the elder Snowfield states numbly, and slowly inclines her head towards the bed.

"Okay, this I gotta see—oh wow, now _that's_ a ring. Who's it for, his lady on the side?" Anna chuckled acidly, a reaction that becomes complete dumbfounded surprise when Elsa answers the question.

"No…it was for me..."

"Wait, what?" Anna gapes with wide eyes, her jaw somewhere in the vicinity of the floor – which remains there even as she guides Elsa to where they can both sit on the bed.

It's at that point that Elsa fills her sister on everything that happened from the moment she slapped him, to finding the jewellery box, to his explanation and finally ending with the moment he left the apartment. Anna, to her elder sister's relief, is ever the patient listener – especially at the points where Elsa's explanation pauses for a broken sob, a tear-soaked shoulder and a comforting one-armed embrace.

"It was all for a proposal…" Anna whispers to the room, once Elsa finishes recalling the heartache. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"No offense, Anna," Elsa sniffs, wiping a hand across her nose, "but when it comes to keeping secrets, you're not exactly the NSA."

"That is true."

"And the first person you'd tell would be me."

"That is also true."

Elsa lets loose a chuckle – but it's dry, humourless, hollow. There's no mirth in her heart, no amusement at Anna's rather blatant honesty…and as the reality of the situation sets in she leans forward and buries her face in her hands.

"Oh God…what have I done? I've ruined everything…" she sighs into her palms.

"No you haven't, 'sis." Anna soothes.

"You don't get it, Anna." Elsa says in a heavily cracking voice as she gazes fixedly at the third drawer. "You didn't see his face…I broke his heart. Anna…I _slapped_ him. Twice. I called him such vile things. For a second, it wasn't Jack standing in front of me, it was…"

"Hans." Anna finishes knowingly, and Elsa can only nod. "Look, I'm sorry too. I should've just asked him what was going on, but I got all sisterly-protective and-"

"Anna, I'm scared he's going to leave me. I screwed up, and I'm scared I've just ended things with him. I told him to leave, that we were over…I was just so angry, but I don't want him to…" she trails off.

"Then go and find him, and make it right." Anna says in a firm, but sage-like voice.

"How? He's not going to talk to me, even if he _wants_ to be found…" Elsa murmurs sadly.

"Elsa, he loves you so much, and I wish it didn't take me until this disaster to see it. He freaking worships the ground you walk on. You're, like, his goddess. He'll talk to you – you just need to get out there and find him. You know him. You know where he's likely to hang out."

Elsa turns her head towards her sister, and gives her one of the most worried, fearful faces she has ever given. "I don't even know if I can. I hurt him, Anna. I don't even know if I'll be able to find him."

"Elsa, honey, you've got two options. You can sit here and mope, thus giving him the message that you don't really care about your relationship or getting married to him…"

The elder sister's eyes widen in fear as she vigorously shakes her head – so Anna quickly adds, "…or you can get in your car, and go find him. Call or text him when you can, just so he knows you still care."

Elsa blinks as she purses her lips together; Anna is completely, one hundred percent right. She has let this go on long enough without resolution, and needs to heal the wounds she caused. A rush of strength and galvanising determination swells up within her chest, and for the first time in over an hour – she knows what she's going to do.

Bolting to her feet, she silently moves past a grinning Anna to pick up the jewellery box that fell to its side when they sat, strides out of the bedroom to retrieve her leather jacket from the hooks by the apartment door, and sets off on her quest to make things right.

She has a fiancée to find.

* * *

 _~oO fancy text goes here Oo~_

* * *

One of the things Elsa loves about Jack, amongst many other aspects of his charming yet mischievous, immature yet responsible, snarky yet honest personality is that he is incredibly sentimental. When she accepted his request for a first date, the first thing he did was to take a selfie of them and fix it to his bedroom door when they first lived separately. When they made their relationship official, he bought two coffee mugs from the café where they had their first date.

So it's only natural that she finds him – in the park, perched on the tree under which they shared their first kiss.

Although she'll admit to spending half an hour driving past the closed café, the apartment complex in which he used to live…and a couple of nearby bars before pulling up near the park.

She could have done without the several text messages she received from her parents asking why the meal was cancelled, though, in between trying and failing to contact him. As if she needs more reminders.

It's as she gets out of the car, walks through the wrought iron gates and is halfway along the gravel path towards him that she is hit with how striking he is – clad in his favourite sweater with the hood up and laid horizontally on the lowest branch with his foot dangling off.. As she quickens her pace, flashbacks of their first kiss cascade through her mind, a reminder one of the happy times they shared. How his lips felt cool like winter's breath, but as soft as a summer breeze, and she wonders if he'll hear her footsteps first.

Her heart beats as loudly as it always did when he was concerned; reminding her of the effect he has on her. How when she hears the word _'love'_ she can only think of him (and her sister, but that's beside the point), how his brilliant, cheeky smirk both brightens her day and heightens her wariness for pranks. How different he is from the man that broke her heart in the first year of college; that they are worlds apart and any comparisons are pointless.

How she loves him with all her heart, mind, body and soul.

And then she remembers the wounded melancholy etched upon his handsome face before he left the apartment…and she notices the reason he hasn't heard her rather noisy journey – the moonlight also illuminates the white wire of an earphone hidden under his hood, and a closer look shows a gentle jigging of his body to the music that undoubtedly swims from the smartphone in his left pocket.

He's also singing.

" _Just give me one fine day of plain sailing weather and I can fuck up anything, anything."_ he sings quietly to himself – and Elsa recognises the song instantly, a piece of music he listens to when he's feeling particularly crappy about something. They say music soothes the soul – but the choice of song, the morose tone with which he sings, and the next line she clearly remembers – _"it was a wonderful life when we were together but now I've fucked up everything…"_

"You haven't fucked anything up, Jack." she whispers out loud, only taking her eyes from him once to spot a stick that had undoubtedly been snapped off during the climb, and rests them wholly upon him once more even as she squats to pick it up, draws her hand back, and tosses the stick at his dangling leg. "I have."

Her heart quickens measurably when his head snaps to her in surprise, and instantly twinges when the aforementioned surprise turns to glum hurt. Backing away, she watches with hope as he pushes himself upright, and plucks the earphones from his ears to roll them up and stuff them in his pocket.

"Have you ever considered a career as a detective, Elsa?" he says dryly, but his lips do not reflect humour.

"I might keep it in mind." she half smiles. Eyeing her as though debating his next move, her hopefully-fiancée grunts his acknowledgement behind pursed lips and a tongue pressed into his cheek – but he doesn't move an inch.

"Can we…can we talk?" she asks in a quiet plea. A deep exhalation of breath is distinctly audible in the silence of the darkened park, so much so that it is akin to a waterfall – and after a few moments of hesitation where she _seriously_ debates climbing the tree in heels and a halter-neck dress, he slides from the branch and deftly lands on his feet. The branch is ten feet above the ground, but he manages it with his usual catlike grace.

Dusting his hands off like thunderclaps in the silent tension, he regards her blankly and unemotionally. "What's on your mind, Elsa?" he asks with faux-innocence.

"So many things…" she says, swallowing down the break in her voice. "Things that I wanted to say to you when I got here, which have since disappeared."

"I'm sorry." She says as she looks down and screws her eyes shut, before forcing them to lock into his piercing cobalt blues. "I'm so, so sorry. I wish I could take back the things I said-"

"But you can't." he cuts her off.

"But I can't." she sighs, echoing him. Her chest feels tight around her lungs, and while her hands hang to her sides, she pinches and rubs at the dress to cope with the discomforting situation, noticing how it feels scratchy and abrasive, rather than smooth.

He exhales loudly through his nose with enough force that she can feel his warm breath on her face – one of the disadvantages of being seven inches shorter than him – but he doesn't say anything. Not a thing. His gaze is cold, his face is blank, and the arms folded across his chest slowly but regularly rise and fall. He's a sphinx, and the silence is deafening.

"Please…say something, Jack."

"What do you want me to say, Elsa?" he answers emotionlessly.

"Something! Anything!" she blurts out before thinking. "Insult me, scream at me, say you love me or you never want to see me again, just…don't be silent with me, please…"

His nose lets loose another exhalation of breath, a sign of contemplation and decision. It hurts that he's actually _thinking_ about it, but she knows why – and she breathes a sigh of relief when he slowly descends to the grassy ground and crosses his legs under him, gesturing at a patch to his right as a silent request for her to do the same.

"It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life so far." he begins while tearing up a few blades of grass and picking them apart. "I planned for over a year, saved up all that money to make it a memorable day for you. I was gonna propose – hopefully you were going to say yes, otherwise it would have been _awkward –_ and then blow your mind at least three times when we got back home."

Elsa couldn't help a heated blush light up her cheeks like Christmas morning at his implication.

"And it was all for nothing. I mean," he pauses to check his watch, and chuckles bitterly at the time, "right now we would have been finishing dessert, and I would have been dropping bomb-sized hints that we go to the beach…and then…"

He hesitates again, and she watches him reach down and rip up another small patch of grass specifically to tear into tiny pieces.

"Yeah, you hurt me, Elsa. Yeah, it hurts that after four years you still didn't trust me enough to _talk_ to me when you knew about the hotel and Thiana – because trust me, I would have told you if I figured that this would happen. But…it's not the fact that you insulted me, or slapped me twice – for the record, you should probably invest in a martial arts career too, 'cause that first slap was a thing of beauty – or that you thought it was better to break up with me rather than talk it out."

He turns his gaze from the growing patch of dismembered grass blades, and fixes her with a piercing stare that feels strangely like his eyes are boring into her soul.

"It's that, after four years, you still think that on some level, I would want to hurt you the way he did. I am _not_ Hans. I would _never_ cheat on you – I thought we established that a long time ago—I mean, my hair is _white_ for crying out loud."

"I didn't ask you on a date because you were going to be my next conquest. I didn't suggest we take it to the next level just so I could get close to your parents' money. I didn't make love to you just so I could go behind your back and tell my friends that you were crap in bed – oh, and again for the record, making love to you is like having a little piece of heaven...and I know that you thought he loved you as much as you loved him. You gave your heart and your body to him...so when you saw him kissing that Gothel chick in college..."

"Jack, I-" she tries to speak, but a hand comes up in a silent request to wait – and though her cheeks are soaked with freshly slid tears, and burn with an even greater intensity than before, she complies.

"Wait, let me finish, because if I don't say this now, I probably never will. I asked you out on a date, suggested we make our relationship official, made love to you…all because I fell in love with you. Elsa, you are the light of my life, my reason for being. You are intelligent, beautiful, charismatic, and funny – you've got this wicked sense of humour that only Anna and I get to experience. You're strong, responsible…seriously, there's a picture of you under my dictionary's description of _'perfect'._ Your face is the last thing I see at night, and the first thing that greets me in the morning. I consider myself blessed to have you in my life, so when you put two and two together and came out with pi rather than talked to me, and decided we were over 'cause he…it broke my heart."

He looks away somewhere to her left, and there's a flash of resignation across his face that stabs at her chest, spreading unwelcome anxiety and fear that settles in her gut. "I know what he did to you, Elsa, 'cause Anna and I were the ones helping you to pick up the pieces. That's why I let all the arguments slide, 'cause I knew it was just your insecurities taking over. Dating me, falling for me - at least, I hope you actually did - and letting me move in with you, I know that a part of you was scared I'd betray you like he did..."

He sucks in a breath through his nose, as if his next words are going to hurt him as much as she thinks they're going to hurt her.

"But I can't do this any more, Elsa." he mumbles in a voice of broken glass, "I can't keep living under the shadow of what he did and...after what just happened...I don't know, did you ever truly trust me? Or were you just waiting to see if I'd stab you in the back? 'Cause if that's how it's gonna be then...w-we might as w-well end it here...'cause I can't go t-through this again."

She can almost _hear_ the crack in both his chest and hers, and realises just how much the prospect of them breaking up after years of happiness, of waking up tomorrow without him, of no longer being able to kiss and embrace him terrifies her. All because of not communicating her worries, and letting her insecurities ruin what should have been a defining moment in their relationship. She bites her lip to stymie a sob, having realised just how close to losing him she is.

Moonlight is a powerful thing, her father taught her. Legends say that it illuminates truths, such as the glistening tears that descend from Jack's eyes. She knows he's trying his damndest to keep a poker face for his benefit, but the eyes tell the story. Hurt and love, in equal measure. Her own tears feel hot against her cheeks, and the lump in her throat made of pure guilt threatens to deprive her of the ability to speak forever. Her heart slams against her ribcage, a constant and unnecessary reminder of the reason she is here.

Heal the wounds she has caused, and make it right.

She can't accept losing him. She _won't._

 _I love him too much to watch him walk away._

She draws herself up to her knees, slides back his hood to reveal his perpetually messy white hair – which almost _glows_ in the moonlight – and cups his face with both hands, taking a moment to lose herself in the little-boy-lost pools of cobalt blue that prick at her heart, while she carefully – lovingly – brushes away the trails of upset on his cheeks. Her mouth feels dry while he stares patiently at her, waiting for her.

Truth be told, she's giving her heart the chance to revel in the sensation of his skin under her fingertips, as it feels like an eternity ago that she last touched him. Her mouth closes and opens, not for lack of things to say, but for the moment where she feels she can get three words out before succumbing to the grimace of sobbing.

"I've made mistakes in my life, Jack-"

"So have I," he says cynically before she can stop him, "like trying to surprise you. Won't be doing that again."

"Jack, stop that nonsense. Your spontaneity is one of the _many_ things about you that I adore – even if they're pranks. So please, don't stop being who you are just 'cause I flew off the handle."

"Many of those mistakes I made tonight, when I jumped to conclusions and misjudged you – which, after four years, is unforgiveable – when I called you some vile things, when I treated you like crap, when I slapped you and when I told you it was over. I don't want it to be over, Jack. I want you to stay with me, to love me as you once did while I love you back. I want to fix this, to make it right. I will do whatever it takes to make it right, because I love you so damn much it hurts," she pauses to tap her heart, "right here."

"I am so sorry for ruining your surprise with my stupid insecurities, for behaving the way I did to you. I am so sorry for hurting you the way I did – and I hope to God that you can forgive me, and we can still be together – because a life without you, Jack, would be empty, joyless, and cold. I don't want that life. I don't want you to leave. I want you to understand just how much you mean to me." she finishes.

There's a pause for a few seconds while he studies her words – throughout the entire outpouring of her heart and soul, his face has been nothing but blank and emotionless. She starts to worry if her little speech has done any good, or if it's a case of _'too little, too late'_. That he already made his decision and won't spend another day with her. She wonders if she wasted too much time at the apartment, and whether she should have ignored his need to cool off and healed the damage there and then.

But, her answer comes in the form of a pair of strong arms that wrap themselves around her back in a tight, loving embrace to pull her against him. Burying her head in his shoulders, she drenches them in tears of relief and joy, mixed with the still present guilt and sadness. She claws at the back of his sweater and fists the material, keeping him close to her. Against her. With her. She feels her heart as it beats in unison with his, the wetness on her right shoulder as he lets slip with tears of his own, and the tremble of his arms as he sobs quietly.

"Elsa, I never stopped loving you. You're my best girl." he murmurs brokenly.

And in that moment, she knows she's done it. The pain is still there, but the wound is healing – and for the next five minutes, even as her weeps become sniffles, she knows she can look to the future with hope.

"There's one more thing I want to say, Jack." she adds in a whisper near his ears.

"What's that?" he asks as he releases his embrace, allowing her to retreat slightly and fix him with a resolute expression…slightly undone by her palms wiping her tears away. Thankfully no mascara smears her hands – always keep a pack of wipes in your car.

"There are two mistakes, though, that I don't want to make. One of them was letting you go, which hopefully I have avoided." She declares, with a none-too-subtle hint of relief.

"And the other?" he prompts with a smile – and God it feels like it's been an eternity since she saw one of his famous, loving smiles in all its glory.

"The other…" she begins with a smile of her own, and trails off as she diverts her attention to her black handbag, cast forgotten to her right when he pulled her into the healing, forgiving embrace. Her hands dive into it while he watches with baited curiosity, and she can _hear_ the catch of his breath when her left hand pulls out of the bag to reveal the jewellery box sat expectantly on her palm.

"…is to wake up tomorrow as just your girlfriend, not your fiancée."

He blinks as his wide-eyed stare flicks between her smirking features and the box waiting in her hand. "You mean…" he gulps with evident trepidation, and receives a slow nod in answer.

She nearly jumps with the speed at which his hand shoots out to take it from her offering palm, opens it to pluck the ring from its protective cushion, and carelessly tosses the empty box behind him. However, with a grace that is completely far removed from the excited flailing about, she feels her left hand be caressed in his, while the beautiful sapphire ring waits agonisingly close to her fingertip, glinting elegantly in the moonlight.

"Elsa Snowfield, there are far too many adjectives I could use to describe you, and I think I used a lot of them already. Um…I…also don't have a speech, but…what I do have is the wish to wake up to you in the mornings, to make you happy beyond your dreams, to love and cherish you for the rest of our lives and…um…well, to tell you that you're beautiful every day. 'Cause it's true."

Elsa giggles shyly – despite not having a written speech, Jack's spontaneous improvisation of one off the top of his head works pretty well.

"Oh!" he adds, stiffening with an idea, "I also promise to blow your mind at least three times a week, except the biological week off."

Then he cheapens it, and receives a reprimanding whap to his left arm in response. Another of the exasperating things she adores about him.

"So…" he asks quietly, anxiety and nervousness dancing in his voice, "what do you say? Will you marry me?"

Elsa's beam is bright enough to blind him. Her heart thuds with joy in her chest, her breath is permanently stuck in her throat, and though her outward demeanour doesn't show it – she could explode with happiness, Anna-style.

"Yes, Jack." she enunciates clearly, hoping to make the moment last, "it was always going to be a yes."

It's a reaction of unbridled glee that happens in slow motion; first his jaw drops in surprise, as though her answer was one he was not expecting. Second, he sucks in a breath of shock.

Last but not least, his mouth curls up in a dazzling and toothy grin rivalling that of movie stars and toothpaste commercials, and his eyes travel down to where the ring begins its final journey.

She feels the metal, cold with its exposure to the November air, as it slides along her finger to its place of rest. She gazes down with appreciation at the sapphire gem sat proudly facing the inky sky…

…and then immediately launches herself toward him, tackling him to the ground with a loud _'oof'._

"Hey!" he grunts, "a little warning next time, okay?"

She smirks slyly at him as she places her hands upon his chest. "Well, warning you would defeat the purpose of spontaneity, no?"

He narrows his eyes, and pouts like an adorable little boy while he feathers his fingers under her jacket. "Touché."

Elsa giggles, and bites her lip as she loses herself in his eyes, those cobalt blue eyes that arrested her four years ago, . "I love you, Jack."

"And I love you, Elsa. So, so much."

Letting loose another cute titter, she feels the love and adoration burn in her chest as she leans down to press her lips against his, closing her eyes to savour the sensation of the kiss. It's slow, it's gentle, and it's tender, a delicate meeting of two lovers – now fiancées – in a darkened park under the moonlit, star-flecked sky.

She pulls back, if only to indulge herself with another gaze upon his pale, chiselled visage…and that's when he speaks to her in a quiet, urging murmur.

"You said you'd do anything to make it right…"

"Uh-huh." She answers, and a racy smirk cuts across her face just before she nibbles her bottom lip. "And I meant it…including what you're thinking."

"Well," he says a little loudly, evidently taken off guard by her brazen innuendo. "I wasn't actually thinking of that…but _hello!_ No, I meant something else."

"What is it, Jack?" she asks, frowning in puzzlement.

"Well, we're technically engaged now – which means Anna and your parents are gonna be disappointed when they find out so…if I reschedule the meal for tomorrow…could you at least _try_ and look shocked when I, um, propose…" he pauses briefly and scratches behind his ear, "…again?"

She laughs, and it's a full-blown, mirthful laugh that purges the guilt, the sadness and the melancholy that still ebbed and flowed in her heart. "Done deal, Jack. Besides, it does make me feel even more like the luckiest girl in the world."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Why's that?" he mumbles as he lovingly brushes a few strands of errant hair behind her ear, eliciting shocking tingles when his fingertips briefly touch her skin.

Smiling, she leans forward just enough so her lips brush temptingly against his, and murmurs:

"Every girl enjoys being proposed to by the love of her life – I'm fortunate enough to get to experience it twice."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **There we have it, one clichéd one-shot. I honestly hope people enjoyed it. Had the inspiration the night before last, ended up writing it in a day, so even after editing it's probably a mess.**

 **I'm going to be honest here - right now, I'm giving myself a small cool-down period from OGaV. I have the planning, I have the inspiration, I just need a bit of a breather from it. 22 chapters with an average of 10k words is exhausting, and I don't want to get burned out by forcing myself to write. So, I am genuinely sorry to those expecting an update, but for the next couple of weeks it might be just _"noir heart"_ and the occasional one shot. Last thing I want to do is force updates, only to get sick of the story and put it on hiatus.**

 **I'm still writing things for it every now and again, it's just a lot slower.**

 **Jack and the gang will return; they're just chilling out, sipping margaritas on a beach in Tahiti. It's a magical place.**

 **The song Jack sings is called _"Plain Sailing Weather",_ and it's by Frank Turner. **

**So, um, yeah. Hope it's not too terrible.**


End file.
